Waylaid Witches
by Quietdiscord
Summary: Hermione receives the opportunity of a lifetime but accepting will alter her life forever.
1. Unexpected Opportunities

This is my first attempt at a Harry Potter fanfic. I've never written anything like this before, I'm more accustomed to writing research papers. I haven't done any creative writing since grade school as a result my writing may come off as a bit dry. Be patient and provide me with helpful critiques and I will try to oblige.

I've developed a full plot for this story, so updates will be occurring. I'm just not sure of the frequency. I do most of my writing as a result of my insomnia. If you're interested, check back frequently.

If you're a fan of Draco Malfoy as a hero, prepare to be disappointed. He plays a large part in this fic and it's not exactly pleasant. Also if you're into canon Harry Potter, avert thine eyes for this is blasphemy.

All characters, places, spells etc related specifically to Harry Potter are the property of J.K. Rowling. I'm not profiting from this endeavor, merely exercising my stifled creative side.

The context in which these characters appear is of my own design. Enjoy.

It is femme-slash. You've been forewarned

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_**Waylaid Witches**_

**Unexpected Opportunities**

Hermione hastily threw her clothing into her trunk, covering the massive quantity of books, quills, and parchment in the process.

"Ron this is going to happen whether you like it or not," Hermione shouted from the loft of their modest apartment.

"Oh yeah? Well I'm not bloody moving until you tell me what this is really about Hermione," Ron yelled, barring the entryway of their home in an attempt to prevent her form leaving.

"Ronald are you daft? I can just disapparate," Hermione retorted rolling her eyes at his vain attempt to stop her.

The aforementioned scene was the explosive climax caused by five years of tension. After school Ron failed the extensive tests required to become an auror. He became dejected and depressed by his lack of direction in life. In his desperation for a job he accepted a position in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office offered to him by his father. His failure to achieve his dream of becoming an auror, as well as, his dissatisfaction with his job strained his relationship with Hermione. Ron could not reconcile the idea of taking a back seat to his brilliant girlfriend. He always envisioned them as partners, equals sharing in each other's achievements. Now he was forced to watch Hermione's meteoric rise in the realm of magical education.

At twenty-two, Hermione was the youngest witch ever to teach at Hogwarts. Bathesheda Babbling, the Ancient Runes instructor, grew tired of the excitement of Hogwarts and retired shortly after the final battle with Voldemort. Hermione was approached by Headmistress McGonagall to fill the vacant position, and to her delight, she loved teaching. She believed she was involved in the noblest profession. To shape young witches' and wizards' minds in the hopes of creating a better future, Hermione couldn't imagine doing anything else.

Her happiness and Ron's apparent lack of support caused friction in their relationship. They often argued for no other reason than that Ron was jealous of her success. It began to wear on Hermione. As much as she loved Ron, she was beginning to believe she could no longer make him happy. The petty arguments over self-importance irked her. She found herself wondering why he couldn't just be happy for her. Someone who loved her should share in her happiness instead of wallowing in his own failures. That is why Hermione neglected to tell him of the exciting news she received a month ago.

It happened on a warm June night; Hermione lay on her bed perusing the newest edition of _Hogwarts: A History_. She was particularly interested in the newest issue because it included the battle with Voldemort that took place in her seventh year. Fully engrossed in the book, she experienced a shock when an owl soared through her slightly open window. It landed on the bed next to her and proffered an envelope, inside was a detailed letter from Headmistress McGonagall.

_Professor Granger,_

_You've been chosen for a prestigious exchange program between Darcantel School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Hogwarts. This opportunity has been a long time in the making and Ministries of Magic from twenty-four different countries have been working together to ensure the program succeeds. The war with Voldemort has taught that interconnectivity can prevent such disasters from occurring again. The Department for Magical Education believes forming mutually beneficial ties by exchanging professors to be an effective way to facilitate cooperation between nations. _

_The school is located in New Orleans, Louisiana and will require you to travel abroad for a year. Should you accept this offer you will leave within a month. Headmistress Benoit believes a month to acclimate yourself to the city is prudent and is providing a room at a local wizard friendly hotel. The Minister of Magic has arranged for a fireplace at the ministry to be connected to Madame Benoit's fireplace in her study at Darcantel. You will arrive at the ministry for 3:00 p.m. on July 28__th__ and travel by floo powder to Louisiana for 9:00 a.m. From that point on you will be in the capable hands of Madame Benoit. She will further instruct you on the courses you will be required to teach upon your arrival._

_Granger, I hope I needn't remind you of the importance of this position to Hogwarts. You will be working as an ambassador not only for Britain but also for this school. It will require you to be on your best behavior and I have no doubt that you will impress. After all you are the smartest witch of your generation._

_Sincerely,_

_Headmistress Minerva McGonagall_

Hermione put the letter down on the bed and pulled her knees up to her chest. She had been waiting for an opportunity like this her entire life. Her natural curiosity demanded that she accept the position. The chance to teach at a school in America and learn about their culture was a dream come true. She reached for a pen and parchment to write McGonagall a response when Ron's face materialized in her head. She had a life in London. A life with a man she loved, or at least used to love. This decision was not one to be taken lightly, so instead of scribbling a hurried response to McGonagall she wrote her best friend Ginny Weasley.

_Ginny,_

_I have big news. Can you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron this Friday at 4:00 p.m.?_

_ -Hermione_

She rolled the parchment up and gave it to the barn owl, trusting he could locate Ginny.

Friday couldn't come soon enough; Hermione was inwardly writhing from withholding a secret of this magnitude. She spent most of her time at home over the summer break, usually cleaning up the mess Ron neglected during the year. The last two days had been devoted entirely to cleaning their dusty apartment. Even the monotonous act of cleaning had not prevented her from thinking of her meeting with Ginny. When troubled, Hermione preferred to clean the muggle way. She gathered her cleaning supplies: a feather duster, mop, broom, buckets, and chemicals. She then set to work. While furiously vacuuming the floor, she failed to notice the door to her quaint apartment open.

Ginny grinned as she watched her best friend vacuuming. _Clearly the news was big if Hermione had resorted to muggle-cleaning_, Ginny thought to herself. Ginny had inherited the wild streak that possessed Fred and George and she quite enjoyed a good laugh. Instead of immediately notifying Hermione of her presence, Ginny snuck up behind her friend and wrapped her arms around her.

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt arms encircle her. It couldn't be Ron; he was at work until at least 5:00 p.m. She tensed against the embrace and slowly turned around to meet her intruder. As she met Ginny's gaze she frowned. Ginny seemed to revel in spontaneity, a feeling that made Hermione terribly uncomfortable.

She punched Ginny lightly on the arm and queried, "So the big news got you so interested you couldn't wait until 4:00?"

Ginny smirked sheepishly, "Ah, Hermione you know me all too well. I've never been good with waiting. It is good news, I hope?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose, as Ginny was still far too near her and had just arrived from what she presumed was Quidditch practice, "Ugh, Ginny you reek. Couldn't have had a shower before you turned up? Not to mention you've muddied my freshly vacuumed floor."

Ginny laughed, "Hermione you're a witch, a little mud is no difficult task." She waved her wand and the mud disappeared.

"Nonetheless Ginny, I'd prefer if you didn't stink up the rest of my home. Take a shower and then we'll discuss my news," Hermione said rolling her eyes at her friend's previous remark.

Fifteen minutes later Ginny was freshly showered and wearing a borrowed set of clothes. After making tea, the two women sat down at Hermione's mahogany kitchen table. Finding the removal of the stench vastly increased her willingness to talk, Hermione launched into the story of the letter from McGonagall. Hermione noticed that Ginny's expression had changed drastically from excitement to concern as the story unfolded. She was certain it was concern for the welfare of her tenuous relationship with Ron. After she finished she looked expectantly at Ginny.

"Well, that's great Hermione. I mean I know it's a wonderful opportunity for you but what about your life here?" Ginny asked slightly disconcerted by the news.

"That's the precise reason I wanted to talk to you. I'm torn about the move. It'd only be for a year but it would cost so much." Hermione said desperately conveying that she had not already made a decision. "You know things with Ron and I are already on tenterhooks. I'm not sure our relationship can withstand a move across the world and I'm not sure I want it to last much longer."

Ginny shook her head, "I'm not surprised it has come to this, Ron's been a real git since he failed that auror exam. However, he is my brother and I know he loves you very much. You at least need to try and talk it out with him. Maybe he'll understand it's something you need to do."

Hermione grimaced, "Yeah. Any mention of my job turns into an argument. He can't handle that I love what I'm doing. He's so bloody miserable working with your Dad. His heart just isn't in it. I'm sure he'll feign happiness at my opportunity, but I never feel he's truly supportive of me."

"You have to do what is best for yourself. If Ron loves you he will understand and he'll wait. I'll miss you if you decide to go. Maybe I can take some time off and visit. I couldn't miss a chance to see America with my best friend," Ginny said with a small smile at Hermione. Ginny turned to Hermione for everything. They had been thick as thieves since graduating from Hogwarts, and she would miss her more than she could ever put into words.

After making idle chat for another hour, Ginny excused herself because she had to meet Harry for dinner. She embraced her friend and gave her a reassuring smile, "It'll be ok. You're stuck with me, even if my stupid brother doesn't know how to hang on to a good woman. One day he'll learn, or he'll end up living alone with pygmy puffs as his only companions." Hermione mumbled her thanks and waved goodbye to the person she'd probably miss the most. Ginny was her rock, a constant comfort, a shoulder to cry on, and basically her other half. The exuberant redhead complimented the bookish, shy Hermione perfectly. The older girl always believed it was the reason they became fast friends. A balance existed between them.

Her chat with Ginny helped Hermione make her final decision. She had to take the job. Later that evening she penned a letter to McGonagall telling her how delighted she was to receive such an important task. She resolved to discuss the matter with Ron later in the week, however; she found she lacked a backbone when it came to the man she loved. She didn't want to hurt him. They'd been so close for so long and she knew this newest achievement would cut through him like a knife. His pride was his biggest weakness. So she postponed telling him and time wore on.

July 27th crept up on Hermione and as she scrambled to pack she frantically wondered how time had passed so quickly. She never mustered the courage to tell Ron of her new job. She'd have to force the confrontation tonight. Part of her wondered at her own motives. Maybe she left off discussing it with him so it would be easier to leave. An argument was an easy thing to run away from while all the complicated emotions like love, trust, and loyalty made it very difficult. She knew she'd never have the stomach to leave if they had a lengthy discussion. He'd plead and profess his love. He might also withdraw and become dejected at the news of her continued success. She had to tell him tonight.

Ron came home at 5:00 p.m. as was his usual routine. He apparated directly into their flat, only to find Hermione sitting on the couch wringing her hands. He observed the worried expression on her face and was crestfallen. Surely nothing good could come of this conversation. He'd been sensing Hermione pulling away more lately but he thought a grand gesture on his part could right the situation. He let the flowers fall at his side as he stared into her frightened eyes. _What could have her so out-of-sorts_, Ron wondered. Before he could gather his thoughts she opened her mouth.

"Ron, I have something really important to tell you. This isn't the way I intended the conversation to happen but I've been a bit cowardly," Hermione started. She then explained in a hurry about the letter and the job she accepted nearly a month ago. Ron's mouth fell open in shock.

He felt heat rushing to his cheeks. He was angry and hurt. How could she not tell him about moving across the world! He knew his faults and understood why she was afraid to tell him. Even so, he would have liked the chance to understand. She was practically forcing this decision upon him. He had no choice in the matter. "Hermione," he bellowed "I…I can't believe what you're telling me. You've kept this from me for an entire month! You know I love you and you know I'd be supportive."

"You'd pretend to be supportive!" Hermione squeaked and turned from his anger. She knew all along this was how it would end.

With that Ron lost all pretense of remaining calm. He chucked the flowers at his girlfriend. "Fine. Do whatever you want but don't expect me to be here when you get back from your little adventure," he said with as much acid as he could force into his words. Her eyes immediately teared. Ron's resolve faltered instantly, "Hermione! I didn't mean it. We can work this out. You know I just get angry," he called as she retreated upstairs. He made to follow her but she pointed her wand at him.

"Ronald if you take one more step, I'll hex your ears off. I know what I did was wrong but that doesn't excuse your behavior," she yelled from the loft as she began frantically packing her trunk. This was what she had anticipated. His rage was the only thing that could give her the courage to leave.

Ron begged and pleaded for another hour. He even resorted to threatening to bar the door but he knew he couldn't truly stop her from leaving. With the words, _Ronald are you daft? I can just disapparate, _still ringing in his ears he slumped onto the couch as he heard the faint pop that signaled she was gone.

Hermione was tired of his blustering and his threats. As soon as she had finished packing she made up her mind to spend the night at Ginny's. At least there she could get some sleep before her trip tomorrow. She disapparated with her trunk onto Ginny's doorstep, praying her friend would accommodate her for the evening.


	2. Darcantel Bound

I forgot to mention previously that this story completely disregards the epilogue in _Deathly Hollows_. Also Marie Laveau was a real figure from New Orleans history and the places included can be found in the area. She is not my original creation.

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**Darcantel Bound**

Thankful she had a free weekend, Ginny turned in early after the game against the Wimbourne Wasps. The Quidditch game took its toll and by the time she apparated back to her house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade she was exhausted. Playing Quidditch for the Holyhead Harpies came with a few perks, one of which was a fat paycheck. Two years ago Ginny purchased the Shrieking Shack and started renovations. She loved the feel of Hogsmeade and the proximity to her old school. She enjoyed watching the students mill about the town on weekends, not to mention it put her nearer to Hermione.

Since her failed relationship with Harry, Hermione had been Ginny's only comfort. Her Quidditch schedule kept her away for most of the season, but on free weekends she often shared a drink with her best friend at The Three Broomsticks. Hermione helped quell the all-consuming loneliness a life on the road caused. Ginny never found time to meet anyone because Quidditch practice and games kept her constantly busy. She relied on those few days a year with her best friend to fill the void. Tomorrow Hermione was leaving for an entire year. They made plans to meet Madam Rosmerta and Aberforth for a last celebratory Firewhisky before she left for the Ministry, but this hardly seemed like a proper send off. Ginny sat on her sofa holding a cup of tea and mulling over the plans for the pathetic farewell party, when she heard a scraping sound on her cobblestone patio.

Noticing a flicker of movement out of the living room window, Ginny quickly looked to her left. She rose quietly from the couch. Clutching her wand beneath her soiled Quidditch robes, she nimbly crossed the hardwood floor to the back door. She opened the door quietly and jabbed her wand into the back of the intruder. Ginny never truly lost that cautious edge caused by years of fighting Voldemort. In fact she firmly believed in the motto "curse now, ask questions later" especially concerning strangers on her porch in the dead of night.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Ginny hissed into the stranger's ear.

Hermione felt the wand in her back and grinned a little despite her tears. _Typical Ginny_, she thought, _always ready to curse a friend that shows up unexpectedly._ She was still clutching her trunk when she said with a hint of a chuckle, "Why is it that you always try to blast my spleen clear out of my body when I turn up?"

Ginny smirked, it was just Hermione. "Like you really need your spleen, I aim for the most useless organs. I want to maim not kill," she said jokingly as her friend turned to look at her. The grin that formed upon hearing Hermione's voice faltered as she looked into her tear stained face. "Hermione what the hell happened?" Ginny took her friend's hand and led her into the house. "You sit right here and I'll be back with a drink. You look like you might need one," she said as she hurried into the kitchen.

Hermione felt her heart lighten as soon as she sat down on Ginny's couch. She loved the home Ginny built for herself. In a short period of time her friend transformed the Shrieking Shack from the stuff of nightmares into a cozy domestic escape. Hermione ran a foot over the newly installed hardwood floors. She remembered a time when the house was coated in dust and rotting. Ginny also replaced the crumbling patio with new cobblestones, which Hermione was sure had alerted her friend to her arrival. The blasted trunk was so heavy she had to drag it to the front door. Settling in more comfortably Hermione gazed up at the ceiling. Ginny knocked out the entire second floor above the den creating a high vaulted ceiling complete with a skylight. She absolutely loved this room. It made her feel at home. Ginny even placed large bookcases flanking the hearth, filled with books of every kind. The den allowed a restricted view of the kitchen via a low wooden archway, and Hermione could just make out Ginny's hands fiddling with something at the bar. As she admired the open staircase leading to the upstairs bedrooms, her friend reappeared. She was carrying two glasses filled halfway with deep amber liquid.

"Firewhisky, Gin? Never one for subtlety," Hermione stated matter-of-factly. Observing her friend's renovations and the mere presence of the other woman calmed her nerves. She had managed to stop crying completely in the few minutes that Ginny disappeared into the kitchen. "I see you're filthy again. Do you ever bathe?" she asked noticing for the first time Ginny's dirty robes.

Ginny smiled at her friend and handed her a glass. "You looked to be in need of something strong, and yes I do bathe. I just know how much you love my stench," she quipped in response to Hermione's insult. "As much as I love your intelligent banter, I'm curious as to your sudden appearance. I thought you'd be spending tonight with Ron," Ginny stated while taking a sip from her glass.

"We had an argument. I've been a bit of a coward about telling him of the new job. A bit might be under exaggerating it actually, I put it off until tonight and he completely flipped out," Hermione said cupping her glass with both hands and staring pointedly at the floor.

"Merlin Hermione that wasn't exactly a fair thing to do to the poor bastard! You know his temper is on a hair-trigger. No wonder he freaked out," Ginny couldn't hide the shock in her voice.

Hermione's eyes welled up with tears and she sniffed, "I know it was wrong but it was the only way I could face him. I was so afraid he'd convince me to stay if we had a real discussion. I really want this job and he's just so damn convincing when he has time to prepare. I'm such a bleeding heart; he would have had a ring on me before the argument was over. I've felt trapped for so long; I can't risk getting involved any further."

"Aw, Hermione don't cry. I'm useless when you cry." Ginny murmured softly, taking the glass away from her friend and placing her hands on Hermione's. She squeezed Hermione's hands gently and asked, "So is it over? Do I need to go comfort my hopeless brother after you leave tomorrow?"

"I…I think it is," Hermione choked out the few words. "I can't believe it's over. I know it hasn't been great the past couple of months, but I love your brother Gin," she whispered tears streaming down her face. "I always will."

Ginny repositioned herself closer to Hermione and slid her arms around the brunette. "It's ok. I know that and he does too. Things will turn out alright and you can stay here tonight if you want." Ginny brought her hand up to Hermione's face and wiped a few stray tears away. She kissed her friend's cheek softly and held her as the sobs intensified.

Hermione buried her face into Ginny's neck and let the pain wash over her. Losing Ron hurt more than she anticipated. She cried until no more tears came and all the while Ginny sat patiently holding her. She was grateful to her friend for the comfort. Ginny had always made her feel safe. It was no different now. Ginny's whispered reassurances strengthened Hermione's resolve.

After ensuring Hermione was comfortable and in a sound state of mind, Ginny decided it was time for a shower. She was still in her now tear-stained Quidditch robes. Ginny headed upstairs to soak in a tub to ease her aching muscles.

Hermione watched her friend climb the stairs and then settled back into the couch. She was feeling slightly better and had a bit of light reading to do before her trip tomorrow. She walked over to her trunk and pulled out _Darcantel: A History_. Hermione wanted to know as much as possible about the place she would soon call home. Headmistress McGonagall mentioned the rare book in her response to Hermione's last letter. Chroniculus Punnet, author of _Hogwarts: A History_ also wrote a book detailing the founding of Darcantel. Hermione managed to procure the book by writing directly to the publisher. She curled up on the couch and began to read:

_The famed Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau (1801-1881) founded Darcantel School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1831. Of course the idea of a Voodoo Queen was preposterous and made up by local muggles who feared Laveau's true nature. She was really a powerful witch devoted to educating her fellows in the new world. However, the guise of Voodoo Queen provided an effective cover to protect her budding magical school. No muggle wanted to go near her land for fear of being cursed._

_Laveau purchased land in what is now the Jean Lafite National Historical Park and Reserve. Nestled two miles from Lake Cataouatche, the school is surrounded by swamps, cypress trees, and Spanish moss, which only add to the enchanted feeling of the place. The gravel road leading to Darcantel is lined with oak trees. The trees create a canopy that form a tunnel leading to the multi-columned, plantation style main house. The building is magically enhanced to accommodate the multitude of students. Students live in four person chalets around the five hundred acre campus. The Professors enjoy rooms on the upper floors of the main house._

_Darcantel is the sister school to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Laveau herself graduated from Beauxbatons in 1818. She was the daughter of a Creole woman and a rich white planter. Her mother's family, the Darcantels, knew the French Minister of Magic and their influence allowed Laveau to attend Beauxbatons. After graduating, Laveau vowed to create a suitable school for American witches and wizards._

_The completion of Darcantel in 1831 heralded a new age for magical education. Like many of the European paragons of education, Darcantel is also unplottable. It differs from Hogwarts in that there is no separation of houses. Laveau felt that segregating students from one another would only breed animosity. She believed in the principles her nation was founded upon and wanted to foster equality between her students. The coat of arms for Darcantel…_

Hermione closed her book as she saw Ginny coming down the stairs. It was getting late and Hermione was tired from the events of the day.

Ginny walked over to Hermione an apologetic smile on her face, "Hey bookworm, I bet you're getting pretty tired. Unfortunately my other bedrooms haven't been fully finished. You can sleep on the couch or we can bunk together. Or if you're totally opposed to sleeping next to me, I'll sleep on the couch."

Hermione shrugged, "Now that you're clean sleeping next to you doesn't seem so bad. No reason anyone should be uncomfortable. It wouldn't be the first time we've had a sleep over." Hermione grabbed some pajamas from her trunk and headed into the bathroom to change.

Ginny went into her bedroom and climbed under the blanket. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach; all evening she put on a happy face for the older woman but part of her felt like she was dying. Wondering how to convey her feelings to Hermione, Ginny lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling. Lost deep in thought, Ginny barely noticed Hermione walk out of the bathroom in a pair of plaid boxers and a white tank top. She turned her head at the sound in the doorway and inwardly observed that Hermione managed to look adorable without even trying. However she could not help but wonder why Hermione was just standing there smirking at her.

"Are you going to make room for me or just continue taking up the entire bed? I can always go downstairs," Hermione queried.

"Oh. I didn't even realize I was in the center. Sorry." Ginny mentally swore at herself for being a bed hog as she moved over to make room for the brunette.

Hermione crossed over to the bed and covered herself with the blanket, rolling on to her side in the process so that she faced her friend. Yawning heartily Hermione said, "It seems so unreal that at this time tomorrow I'll be in a foreign bed in a different country. This past month has just flown by."

"But you're excited aren't you? It isn't too late to tell them you changed your mind," Ginny mentioned a little too hopefully.

"I haven't changed my mind. I just know that once I get settled at Darcantel I'll start to miss the life I had here. Well, maybe not all of it but definitely the students. It'll be my first year away from them," Hermione stated thoughtfully.

Ginny nodded, "I understand. I've gotten to the point where away games are not nearly as exciting as they used to be. I'm just lucky that I'm never on the road for more than a few weeks a year."

"Yes. I hope this year doesn't end up feeling like an eternity," said Hermione sleepily.

"I think it will pass faster than you expect, but either way I am going to visit as soon as I can take an extended vacation." When Ginny finished her sentence she noticed that Hermione had fallen asleep. As she watched the steady rhythm of the witch's chest rise and fall, she moved closer to Hermione and brushed a piece of stray hair behind the elder girl's ear. Ginny said quietly, "I already miss you and you haven't even left. How am I going to survive without you until the Quidditch season is over?" She tilted her head forward and kissed Hermione on the forehead before rolling over. As Ginny stared at the wall thinking about the next day and the goodbyes she would have to say she mused, _I hope we don't have a post season this year_ and drifted off to sleep.

Ginny woke to an empty bed. She picked up her silver watch from the nightstand and looked at the time, "Bollocks, I'm late!" She rolled out of bed and cursed as she kicked her night stand. _I must have been more tired than I realized_, Ginny thought. She rarely slept past 9:00 a.m., but today she managed to sleep until 12:30 p.m. "I'm such a git. I can't believe I managed to sleep through the beginning of Hermione's party," she mumbled while pulling on a pair of jeans. _Why didn't she wake me up! _Ginny rushed down the stairs and tripped over Hermione's trunk on the way out the door. She bolted down the road and burst into The Three Broomsticks five minutes later. Scanning the pub she spotted Aberforth, Hermione, and Rosmerta in the back corner. Chuckling to herself Ginny made a mental note of the flush apparent on Hermione's face. She walked over and was enthusiastically greeted by the brunette.

"Ginny! I'm so glad you're here. I was beginning to think you might have died," Hermione nearly shouted in her ear as she embraced the slender redhead.

"I guess I was a bit more worn out from the game than usual," Ginny stated as she took a seat next to Aberforth. "How ya been old man?" she asked.

"Oh you know the usual, terrorizing the brats that dare to enter the Hog's Head. Nothing makes me happier than the look of pure fear on a teenagers face," Aberforth grinned menacingly at the former Hogwarts students.

"Sod off. I was never really afraid of you. It's about time you drop that joke," Hermione responded.

"An old man only has the simple pleasures left in life Hermione," Aberforth stated knowingly.

Rosmerta returned at that instant with three glasses of mead and a Firewhisky. "Gin the whisky is for you. You're a bit behind the rest of us," Rosmerta said with a wink.

The four friends spent the rest of their time together catching up and attempting to eliminate as many brain cells as possible. Hermione being practical stopped drinking long before the other three; after all she had to make a good first impression. She anxiously watched the clock above the bar, growing more nervous with each tick of the minute hand. At 2:45 p.m. Hermione stood up to disapparate to the entrance of the Ministry.

Ginny glanced up at the clock and groaned audibly. "I dun wan you to go," she slurred as she rose to say goodbye. Despite her efforts to control her emotions, Ginny's eyes welled up with tears. "'Ermione I'm gon' miss you," She managed to convey as she pulled the older girl into a rough hug that nearly toppled them both over.

Hermione chuckled sadly, "I'll miss you too you goof." She wrapped her arms around Ginny's waist and pulled her closer to her body. Hermione inhaled deeply as she buried her face into Ginny's hair. She loved the way her friend smelled despite her jokes to the opposite. Ginny's smell embodied her spirit. She smelled like the first day of autumn, crisp and clean. It was a scent Hermione wanted to carry with her to the unknown, something to comfort her on those lonely nights. "I love you Gin," she said softly into the other woman's hair.

"Love you, 'Ermione," Ginny said sobbing onto her friends shoulder.

After quick goodbyes to Aberforth and Rosmerta, Hermione disapparated to Ginny's to pick up her trunk. Procuring the item in question, she turned and with a pop reappeared in a side alley near the telephone booth that allowed access to the Ministry of Magic. Lugging her heavy trunk with her into the enclosed space she picked up the receiver and dialed 62442. A voice on the other side responded, "Good day and welcome to the Ministry of Magic. State your name and your business."

"Hermione Granger. I'm here for international travel."

"One moment," responded the disembodied voice.

A clanking sound indicated that her visitors badge had materialized in the coin return slot on the telephone. She reached down and picked it up, pinning it to her robes as the booth descended to the familiar lobby of the Ministry. Hermione stepped out into the glistening atrium. Everything was as she remembered it; they had even reconstructed the damaged fountain. She glanced quickly around looking for Kingsley and was rewarded when she saw him standing near a fireplace separated from the rest of the floo network. Above the fireplace was a plaque that read _International Travel_, Hermione assumed this was installed when the Ministry began campaigning for greater magical cooperation. She walked briskly forward, calling out to Kingsley as she walked.

Kingsley turned and greeted her cordially, "Miss Granger ever punctual I see."

Hermione had arrived at 2:50; she wanted to be on time. "Yes Minister. Some things never change," she said as she shook his hand. "What is with the international floo connection? I thought wizards and witches could apparate anywhere they wanted," Hermione asked.

Kingsley launched into a lengthy explanation, "Technically that is true; however, in an attempt to strengthen diplomatic relationships countries are regulating international travel. It's mostly a sign of good faith, but there are new spells in place that alert individual governments when a wizard or witch enters their country illegally. It's based on the spell that the Improper Use of Magic Office uses to track underage wizards but on a much larger scale. But enough about business, it's time for you to leave." Kingsley held out a handful of floo powder, "Good luck Miss Granger. I hope your trip is a safe one."

Hermione took the proffered handful of floo powder and tossed it into the hearth. She stepped gingerly into the green flames and shouted 'Madam Benoit's Study.' Hermione barely had time to brace herself for the frantic spinning. She passed an innumerable amount of fireplaces on her journey. She started feeling ill and was close to vomiting when her feet landed hard on brick. Ash blew up into her mouth and eyes. She stumbled out of the fireplace and was greeted by sweltering heat. A heat so intense and humid she felt suffocated. Her vision blurred and she collapsed to the floor.


	3. So Much for First Impressions

So I realized while writing this chapter I hadn't previously accounted for the six hour time difference. I corrected the issue in all chapters.

Merde means shit in French.

* * *

**So Much for First Impressions**

_Madame Granger, Madame Granger…_

The voice seems so far away, and Hermione blinks hard trying to push the grainy bits of ash from her eyes.

_Merde._

The tiny voice sounds in Hermione's ear again. Dear God the heat. The heat is cloying and restricting her breathing. Using her elbows for support, Hermione forces herself to sit halfway up and takes a deep shuddering breath. Beads of sweat roll down her face. _Did I end up in the seventh circle of hell_, Hermione wonders to herself. She wipes residual ash from her mouth and then carefully uses one hand to rub her eyes.

_Aguamenti_

That pesky little voice again. Hermione falls back to the ground as a blast of water hits her full in the face. _I really am in Hell. This is some kind of new water torture. _Hermione rolls over quickly and crawls away from the jet of water. Rubbing her eyes a second time she finally locks eyes with her torturer.

"Madame Granger, I'm so sorry. I lost control of my wand; I merely meant to help get the ash off your face. I didn't realize the effect the sudden weather change would have on someone not used to Louisiana's subtropical climes," says Madame Benoit as she stands up and straightens her light cotton dress.

Hermione is taken aback instead of a horrible minion of Satan standing before her, she sees a beautiful light-skinned African woman. Hermione blinks a few more times to clear the water from her irritated eyes. Madame Benoit is tall and slender with long, wavy black hair. She has an angular but delicate face with a high brow and full lips. Her eyes are amber with flecks of pure gold. Hermione is temporarily speechless.

"It's such a lovely day. I didn't think to cast a cooling charm for your arrival. Ninety-seven degrees is nice for a July day here and I was enjoying the fresh breeze," the woman offered as an explanation.

Finding her voice Hermione responds, "Oh no. It's ok. I felt a little sick before I arrived. Floo powder isn't my favorite form of transportation and I tend to get a bit queasy." She uses her wand to dry the front of her clothes. Realizing now that she is inappropriately dressed for Louisiana, Hermione blushes. _Ugh, I knew it was going to be hot here. What the hell was I thinking wearing long sleeves_?

The woman stands there for a moment before extending her hand. Hermione takes it and is immediately struck by the velvety feel. It's beyond soft. She rises from the floor with the help of Madame Benoit and is now standing face to face with her. Hermione begins to fully assess her new Headmistress. She seems to be in her early forties, but only the hint of smile lines display her age. She emanates authority but also warmth, and right now she is staring at Hermione with a slightly embarrassed expression. Hermione finds the expression of embarrassment amusing seeing as how it was the weather that caused her sickness not the woman.

Hoping to put her new boss at ease, Hermione says, "I fainted because of the weather. It was no fault of your own; I'm over-dressed. How do you stand this insufferable heat?"

"I'm afraid that years and years of practice are the only remedies," Madame Benoit says with a hint of a smile on her lips. "Please Miss Granger now that you've sorted yourself do have a seat and we'll discuss your tenure here."

Hermione sits in the comfortable hand-crafted wicker chair across from Madame Benoit's ornate oak desk. "Miss Granger would you like a drink before we discuss business?" Hermione nods in assent and uses the lull in conversation to observe the room. The light yellow paint gave the room a feeling of openness. Two windows stand fully open on catty-corner walls, their light linen curtains billowing in the breeze. On the wall behind the Headmistress' desk is a large portrait enclosed in a gilded frame. The picture is of a woman who looks suspiciously like Madame Benoit, except she is wearing period clothes. Hermione estimates the time to be around the 1800s and is fairly certain it's a picture of Darcantels founder. Looking up Hermione notices a fan, a muggle contraption that circulates air, oscillating slowly. The fan seems absurdly ordinary and out of place in a school where magic is taught. Hermione puzzles over this a few seconds longer before being jerked from her reverie by the low sensual voice of Madame Benoit.

"It's a mint julep. A typical southern drink made with sugar, water, bourbon, and fresh spearmint," the woman states as she sets a glass in front of Hermione. "It cools and refreshes."

Hermione took an experimental sip. The mint did indeed refresh her, "Thank you Madame. I've never had anything like this before."

"Call me Irene. Madame is only for the students," she intones, her deep, smooth voice washing over Hermione and making her feel instantly at ease.

"Please call me Hermione then, Miss Granger reminds me horribly of my Transfiguration teacher. I'm fond of the woman but not so much of the formality." Hermione states, her voice crashing against the older woman's like the lilt of a bell.

"I couldn't help but notice you staring at the ceiling fan. It's there purely for my benefit. Both my parents are muggles and ceiling fans are common place in the South. We had four in my old home. This room takes on the form of the present Headmaster or Headmistress' desire. I think Madame Laveau produced the charm to make the new occupant feel more at home," Irene said answering any questions Hermione may pose about the fan.

"Now Hermione, we move on to business. You're here essentially as a diplomat, a friendly gesture from the UK. Our Ministry of Magic is fairly infantile compared to the European Ministries. We need all the friends we can get. As the United States is much larger than most European countries, it is hard for the Ministry to regulate the magical schools and provide the witches and wizards with a standard education. We've brought you in to broaden our curriculum and to learn of your education system. Kingsley Shacklebolt…"

Hermione could not contain herself, interrupting excitedly, "There are more schools?"

"Why yes, Darcantel couldn't possibly contain the entire wizarding population of America. The schools are divided regionally. Vanderhues Academy is based in Boston, it covers the Eastern Seaboard. Darcantel, the oldest and most prestigious school, educates the wizards from the Southern states. Hastings School for the Magically Inclined in Nebraska provides the Mid-West with knowledge. Aleutian Academy in Alaska educates the West Coast. You wouldn't believe how many witches and wizards come from Alaska. Hawaii, however, is a unique case. Witches and wizards from Hawaii get to choose which school they attend because they are not part of the mainland."

"I thought Darcantel was the only wizarding school in America," Hermione says as she ponders the information just given to her.

"As I was saying before we got off topic, Kingsley Shacklebolt believes you to be the finest witch of your generation. He trusts you to provide me with a thorough explanation of the education system in place in the UK. Apart from that you will be teaching two courses. One is the History of European Magic and the other is an elective of your choosing. I've been assured by Minerva that any course you elect to teach will be on par with our standards as you're versed in a variety of subjects. You will receive a wage equal to that of your teaching position at Hogwarts. Do you have any questions?" Irene asks politely upon the close of her explanation.

Hermione was lost in thought for a few minutes before she asked, "How is it that I never knew any of this information about America?"

"It is a complicated matter but I will attempt to explain. The American Minister of Magic, Reginald Benson, believed that the rise of Voldemort would one day threaten our nation. As a result, America became very isolationist during Voldemort's reign of terror. We withdrew our few contacts with other countries in the hopes of preventing Voldemort from stretching his grasp overseas. Fortunately the countries working with us agreed to keep the knowledge of our existence secret. The locations of our schools and surrounding villages were kept secret using the Fidelius Charm. Everyone who knew of our existence became a Secret-Keeper, including your very own Albus Dumbledore. Voldemort never imagined a juvenile nation like the United States housed a treasure trove of magical knowledge. His arrogance provided us with our best cover. Though I am sorry we were little help to you during the dark days," she finished with a sad smile. "I believe that is enough chat for now. I'm sure you're tired and hungry. Especially after passing out and being assaulted upon arrival. I'll take you to lunch in the French Quarter and then escort you to your hotel room. I assume you've been informed of your room in the city until August 28th?"

"Yes, I'm aware of my lodgings. I'd be delighted to have lunch with you and to pick your brain a bit more about America," Hermione said hardly containing her excitement. _I have so much to tell Ginny! _The sudden realization that the postal system was probably entirely different hit her. "How do you send mail overseas?" _I really should finish reading that book._

"I'll answer that question over lunch. You're familiar with side-along apparation?" Irene asks rhetorically as she grabs Hermione's hand and turns on the spot.

They materialize down an empty alley and make their way to the main street. Hermione notices immediately that the road is unpaved. Cobblestones add a familiar cadence to their footsteps. "What about my trunk? I left it in your office," Hermione inquires as they walk along Decatur Street.

Irene looks at Hermione and responds with a warm smile, "I'll have someone bring it to your room after we eat. We're going to a favorite restaurant of mine called Broussard's. You can taste our local cuisine and then you're free for the rest of the day."

For the first time Hermione caught the hint of a French accent in Irene's smoldering alto voice. Hermione finally looked down at her watch. She left at 3:00 p.m. and it was now 11:00 a.m. Her stomach let out a loud rumble. "I'd forgotten to take into account the time change. I can't believe I didn't notice how early it is, I must be really tired."

She walked along in silence taking in the architecture of the French Quarter. It reminded her of trips to Barcelona and Paris, the buildings were a mixture of both French and Spanish architecture which combined to make something unique. Often the balconies were adorned with intricate wrought iron balustrades that drew the wandering tourist's attention upward.

Ten minutes later they arrived at their destination. Broussard's was a fine restaurant, complete with marble floor and ionic columns. Irene led Hermione through the main dining room and into the kitchen. "I prefer to dine in the back especially when my quests aren't of muggle persuasion. Less chance of being overheard," Irene offered nonchalantly. She selected shrimp étouffée for Hermione to sample. It was a creamy, heavy dish that packed a big kick. Overall the meal was delicious; however, Hermione's British palate wasn't accustomed to the bold spices used in Creole cuisine. Her eyes began to water after several bites.

Irene couldn't help but smirk, "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I've played an unintentional trick on you. I forgot to warn you the dish would be a little hotter than what you're used to."

"It's really good," Hermione managed after wiping her eyes with her napkin. "We don't use this much pepper in our food back home." She quickly changed the subject and asked again, "So how would I send a letter to my friends?"

"Right to the point, I see." Irene observed more to herself than to Hermione. "The post works similarly to the UK. We use owls to send letters domestically but employ the aid of Bar-tailed Godwits for international delivery. Owls can't make the flight over the Atlantic Ocean. All international mail is delivered to a postal hub in Atlanta, Georgia. From there the Godwit carrier bird takes the letter to one of your post offices, where it is then delivered to the intended recipient via owl. You can also communicate via the floo network, if you have access, and by two-way mirror."

"Can I borrow an owl tonight? I really want to write a letter to my friend Ginny," Hermione asked as thoughts of the redhead flooded her mind. _Ginny would love this place; she's always up for an adventure._ A distinct scent that reminded Hermione of freshly crushed leaves caught her attention as she thought of her best friend.

"Of course, I'll send one with your trunk. Now I think our meeting should conclude. You look weary, and I'm not as young as I used to be," Irene stated plainly.

They walked a few blocks down from Broussard's and found a hole-in-the-wall inn called The Silver Stag. Irene checked Hermione in and led her upstairs to her cozy room. Fortunately, The Silver Stag had a weather enchantment on the rooms that adjusted to the occupants needs. Hermione was grateful for that luxury. The heat really was overwhelming. At 12:00 p.m. the city radiated warmth.

A knock on her door indicated Hermione had a visitor, expecting it to be someone from the school she opened the door. A young wizard with a pock-marked face appeared before her grinning shyly. He had dirty blonde hair, thin lips, and bright blue eyes.

"Hi. Are you Hermione Granger?" the wizard asked eagerly.

"Yes I am but I wasn't aware we had been introduced. What's your name?" Hermione asked politely.

Excitedly the young man continued, "I'm Steven Mayard; I work the front desk. I've read all about you and your friends vanquishing Voldemort. Do you really know Harry Potter?"

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "Yes but please don't treat me any differently. I'm just here for a job and if you don't mind I'm very tired," she muttered with the slightest hint of exasperation. _My famous friends really do follow me everywhere._

"Of course Miss Granger, I'll leave you to your rest," Steven bowed low and left abruptly.

Twenty minutes later a man arrived with her trunk and an owl. Hermione thanked him and began digging through her trunk for parchment and pajamas. She curled up on the bed, and for the first time since arriving thought seriously about her friends back home. She wondered how Ron was doing and if he was ok. Her day had been full of new discoveries and knowledge, something Hermione reveled in. Her eternally curious nature caused her to push the sense of loss to the back of her mind. Now, in the absence of Irene Benoit, Hermione felt that pain intensely. She gave up a relationship to come here, not to mention Ginny. She missed her friend sorely at the moment. She wrote Ginny a lengthy letter detailing the revelations Headmistress Benoit made earlier in the day. Then she closed her eyes and remembered a soft kiss, a scent of the autumn wind, and she smiled despite herself.


	4. Fortuitous Meeting

**Fortuitous Meeting**

The woman and her companion nearly knocked him over as he rushed from a hotel on Decatur Street. She walked along, eyes turned to the sky, observing the balconies that lined the street. He almost apologized for the near collision when he noticed the bushy mane of Hermione Granger. He'd never forget that hair or those highly intelligent eyes; however, it appeared she did not recognize him. His hair was now chestnut brown and shoulder length, but his piercing grey eyes, alabaster skin, slender nose, and trademark sneer still marked him as a Malfoy. The hair was a precaution taken since moving to the United States, he hoped it would prevent recognition from any former classmates or friends from his other life. It appeared his subtle disguise had worked. Draco experienced a feeling of loathing so intense it temporarily blinded his judgment. Letting Granger pass, he grabbed his wand from his suit jacket and pointed it at her unknowing back. A small voice saved him from committing murder in broad daylight.

"Mister, is that a magic wand?" an innocent young muggle boy asked.

Draco quickly recovered his composure by thinking _orchideous, _causing his wand to produce a bouquet of flowers. He knew the fake wands muggles used in magic shows could produce such an effect and that his simple trick would convince the child. Giving the boy a begrudging smile, he ducked down a small side street.

_What was she doing here and with Benoit no less?_ Her interference could surely destroy his delicate plans; the last thing he needed was a former adversary breathing down his neck. He leaned back against the wall trying to reign in the sudden hatred seeing her loathsome face caused. Dropping his cover for a revenge kill was out of the question. The adrenaline surge he felt at envisioning her cold dead eyes would have to be sated some other way. Being aware of her presence was more fortuitous than not knowing, he reasoned to himself. Draco resolved to watch her closely. When he emerged from the alley he spotted Granger slipping into Broussard's. He settled himself in a window seat of a café across the street and waited.

An attractive, voluptuous raven haired waitress brought him his latte. Draco barely noticed the woman as his eyes remained fixed on the doorway of the restaurant. He always found waiting intolerable, this he blamed on his father. Lucius Malfoy doted on his son and provided him with whatever he wanted, when he wanted it. This did not exactly foster a healthy amount of patience in the young man. Draco casually tapped his long fingers on the table and quietly reminisced.

It had been five years since he and his family fled from Lord Voldemort's defeat. Lucius and Narcissa would never be accepted back into the wizarding world after being unmasked as Voldemort's lackeys. Life in the UK no longer existed for the Malfoys; the Ministry planned to hunt down any former Death Eaters and throw them in Azkaban. Luckily, being prepared was Lucius' forte; he arranged muggle passports for his family and whisked them by airplane to the United States. The past five years were spent attempting to rebuild the former glory of the Malfoy name.

Draco spent an extensive amount of time courting the favor of George Vanderhues, the namesake of the Vanderhues Academy. Vanderhues secretly shared the Malfoy's hatred of muggles and blood traitors. As a result, Vanderhues Academy was the only pureblood wizarding school in the nation. The blatant racism in America pleasantly surprised the Malfoys and aided in their plot to resume Voldemort's work. Draco recently had a breakthrough with Vanderhues and secured a teaching position at the Academy in the fall. He was pondering just this as the raven haired beauty finally caught his attention.

"Is there anything else I can get you sir?" the woman asked politely.

Draco eyed her hungrily a sinister gleam in his eyes. Draco's bitterness at having to flee the UK consumed and hardened the once innocent boy into a callous young man. He flashed a winning smile at the woman to hide his malicious intent. He was a fine monster, the most horrific villain imaginable. He stalked his prey, even now unknowingly observing the woman had no wedding band. Easier to pick off.

"No, not unless it's an invitation to dinner," he stated, confidently smoothing a stray piece of his chestnut hair and emphasizing his British accent. He chuckled inwardly, knowing American women could hardly resist even the hint of his accent.

The woman appeared flustered, a slight blush tinting her porcelain cheeks. She smiled sheepishly at Draco and mumbled, "I get off of work at 7:30." She slipped him a piece of paper with her number on it.

Having secured his evening's entertainment, he resumed his vigil of the restaurant.

**A/N**: Sorry for the abysmally short update. I wanted to post something just to get back into the groove of posting again. It has been a long time.


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